


The Discreet Approach

by greygerbil



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Identity Porn, M/M, Pining, Portland Place Gentlemen's Club, Post-Duck Pond Incident, Smut with True Forms, Smut with Vessels, pretending to be a couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-09-30 17:16:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20450717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves working together a little more closely than usual to each further their own cause. However, it's quite difficult to pretend to be a happy couple when so much between them is still unsaid.





	The Discreet Approach

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liesmyth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liesmyth/gifts).

“Do you even know what kind of club this is?”

Aziraphale threw a glance at Crowley that he hoped was sufficiently displeased. They were sitting by themselves on a plush sofa in a corner, their voices masked by the murmur and laughter all around the spacious dining room.

“What do you mean?” he answered crossly. “I hardly doubt this is the kind you should be attending, for one. I know some establishments like this engage in excessive gambling and carousing, but I have never seen such things around here!”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Crowley said and though he was wearing his dark glasses, Aziraphale could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

“Then what are you talking about?”

Even though it had been a couple of decades since their last meeting in which Crowley had posed his impossible question, the resulting silence that had stretched between them since then still stung, turning Aziraphale’s words harsher than they needed to be.

“The second floor,” Crowley said impatiently. “You ever take a look there?”

“Oh.” Aziraphale frowned. “You mean _that_? Well, what they are doing might be illegal around here, but I don’t have to explain to you that it won’t get them into hell, do I?”

“Obviously,” Crowley said, waving his hand, but stopped quickly in his movement. “So… you’re here for – _that_, then?”

“Of course not!” Aziraphale answered, properly scandalised. “I merely enjoy the company of these men. So many of them are very kind and attentive and always so eager to help me out, too. I’ve hardly ever met such a pleasant group of people, it’s quite elating.”

Crowley snorted and opened his mouth, but finally just shook his head. Aziraphale was almost completely sure that he had rolled his eyes again.

“Anyway, I’m here to tempt someone. I think fiddling with one person for days on end is a waste of time, but sometimes downstairs wants to see classical temptations – ‘with my machinations I turned his mind to evil’ and all that. Figured I’d pick a human who’s already headed downwards and give the final push to get it over with.” He glanced at Aziraphale. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here of all places.”

“In here? Who is it?” Aziraphale asked, surprised. Despite the fact that he very much wanted to remain angry, it was still so easy to fall back into conversation with Crowley.

“Trust me, you’re not saving that one,” Crowley answered and took a sip from his glass of wine. “It’s Lord Rathbone.”

Aziraphale made a face. He did know him and all his attempts to pull him over to the side of light had been dodged with the ease of the practiced and wholly unrepentant sinner.

“Well – you may be right about that,” he admitted, and quickly added: “Although, of course, no child of God is ever lost. But I do wish you wouldn’t. His _particular friend_, Mr Dalton, is a very nice man.”

“Mr Dalton will be better off without him, then.”

“Yes, but he’s very trusting. I fear if you tempt Lord Rathbone to do something stupid, he might follow along because he’s in love.”

This loyalty was really a rather charming feature in Mr Dalton, but turned towards the wrong person, it could be disastrous.

“Why should that bother me? Two for the price of one,” Crowley answered with a shrug.

There was, however, an undertone in his voice, the kind that said ‘let’s talk’. They had had many such negotiations over the years.

“I… may be persuaded to help you with Lord Rathbone if you let me put Mr Dalton on a better path,” Aziraphale said, busying himself with a crumpet that sat on a dainty, gold-rimmed plate before him on the low coffee table.

“As it happens, there is something I could need a hand with.”

Crowley sprawled back against the sofa, playfully tapping his cane on the ground. He was quite distractingly handsome in this dark suit, though Aziraphale still found himself missing the longer hair of earlier centuries. Then again, Crowley had never really looked bad in any style.

He forced himself to silence the thought. He was supposed to be mad at Crowley – no, he _was_ mad at Crowley for even suggesting that Aziraphale place him in danger.

“So?” he asked, curtly.

“Lord Rathbone is always either shut up at home, stuck somewhere in dealings with unsavoury people, or here on the second floor. I need a chance to approach him, but they only let people up there if they’re convinced of their proclivities, right?”

“As far as I understand.”

It was an unwritten rule of the club.

“Well, then I need a partner. Someone to get accidentally caught with so people are convinced I could make use of that second floor.”

Aziraphale looked at him in confusion for a brief moment before the implication dawned on him. He was convinced his stomach did a flip, though he was pretty sure that shouldn’t be possible within the scope of human anatomy.

“I hope you’re not proposing anything indecent.”

“It’ll have to be at least somewhat indecent, angel, otherwise it’s not going to work.”

The prospect of doing something somewhat indecent with Crowley drove blood into Aziraphale’s cheeks. He really should have denied him, he knew, both because Crowley was obviously not honestly interested in him and because angles had no business doing things that were even tenuously indecent. However, wasn’t it his God-given duty to protect Mr Dalton? He couldn’t back down now!

“I suppose if that is what it takes…”

“Yeah. Just business,” Crowley murmured as he got to his feet.

_Just business._ Aziraphale tried not to let disappointment settle in. He would do well to remember that.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere just private enough that it’ll look like we tried not to get caught.”

Crowley wandered about the room for a moment, glancing down a few doorways, and then returned to take Aziraphale’s elbow, smiling at him. Though Aziraphale realised this was just for show, he could not help but feel a little twinge of happiness. It reminded him of times when Crowley had enjoyed being around him.

Turning into a hallway that led to an adjacent sitting room where people were playing at whist, they walked on a plush carpet that swallowed the noise of their footsteps. Crowley opened a door to a small chamber filled with only an old sofa and some empty bookcases and then leaned it close it behind them, but deliberately left a small gap.

“Have you ever done this before?” he asked Aziraphale.

“No,” Aziraphale answered primly. “I’m an angel, what business would I have fornicating?”

Crowley paused for a moment.

“If you don’t want to…”

“It’ll be fine with you, I’m sure.” Aziraphale just caught himself as he heard the words leave his mouth, though they were true. “I mean – we’ve known each other for very long – and it is just to prove a point.”

“Right. Wouldn’t want to be caught actually _fraternising_ by anyone important up or down, after all.”

The hiss that entered the word almost made Aziraphale flinch. He could hear fury still curling there like an indignant snake, barely hiding behind Crowley’s petulant frown.

“Crowley…”

“Let’s just get to this. I’ll show you how.”

Crowley pointed at the couch and Aziraphale sat with a sigh. They should probably talk, but he had a feeling they would just start fighting again, for his actual opinion had not changed. However, he had no idea how to impress on Crowley that he wasn’t being difficult to protect himself from retaliation from heaven. He would simply never forgive himself if Crowley would be killed because Aziraphale had provided him with the means to do so.

Crowley distracted him from the gloomy thoughts by sitting by his side.

“Right... we’ll just keep going until someone catches us, I guess?” he suggested.

“I suppose. Have _you_ done this before?”

“Yeah. Lust is usually one of the nicer sins. Can turn ugly, of course, but not as quick as greed and vainglory usually do,” Crowley said and shrugged. “I tried out some stuff. The Romans in their decadent decline? Not just gossip. That was an exciting time.”

The thought of Crowley sauntering into a late-stage Imperial orgy to be greeted by excited Roman friends made something in Aziraphale’s chest twist. He suddenly wished he hadn’t asked.

“Then you probably know what you’re doing,” he answered, to say something.

“Yeah.”

Crowley paused briefly before he stiffly placed his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Well,” he added.

“Yes, er…”

Before the room could grow stifling with the awkwardness emanating from them, Crowley mercifully leaned forward and kissed him. Aziraphale, who’d been consciously imagining this moment probably since about the time poor old Shakespeare had died, and accidentally who knew how long before that, had figured that with all his expectations placed on this kiss, it could not possibly live up to them. Also, they were still fighting. And only acting.

Aziraphale had to seriously work to contain his wings as their lips met. It felt so much better than what he’d dreamed of.

Restraint had never been one of his stronger points, not when it came to things he enjoyed, so while he was focused on not filling the room with white down feathers, he could not keep his hands from grabbing on to Crowley in delighted surprise at the surge of warmth that exploded within him and the ripple of excitement that followed as Crowley pushed his tongue into his half-open mouth. Goodness, did it always feel so good? No wonder it was so easy for demons to tempt people.

Crowley pushed into him until Aziraphale understood he probably wanted him to lie back – yes, that would make the whole situation look more lewd, he supposed. He found himself make a somewhat undignified noise into Crowley’s mouth as the man moved between his legs, even though it was the most logical place for him to end up in their new position without risking a fall off the sofa. Crowley, however, seemed distracted by what his thigh had just discovered pressing up between Aziraphale’s, into the soft bulge in his trousers.

“You make an effort?” he asked, brows shooting up.

“I didn’t expect to actually use it – some trousers sit oddly if you don’t have one,” Aziraphale said defensively.

“Sure,” Crowley drawled.

Aziraphale’s face grew even redder. Before he could sputter out some denial to the implicit charge of self-abuse, Crowley kissed him again.

“No squabbling, we’re passionate lovers overcome with the moment,” he reminded him quietly after drawing back.

“Yes. You _are_ wrong, though,” Aziraphale muttered, easing into the cushions again.

Crowley seemed to go in for another kiss, but then leaned sideways and nipped at his jaw instead. It was a perfect distraction from his grievance for Aziraphale. After a moment of simply basking in the feeling of the contrast between his sharp teeth and soft lips, Aziraphale could not bring himself to only hold still anymore. Perhaps his own skill would be judged rather paltry in comparison, but Crowley didn’t complain as he started to run his hands over him and felt his lanky body through the many layers of cloth society dictated these days. Guiltily, he found himself thinking that perhaps they should have done this in Roman times when he could have so easily reached naked skin.

“Your effort’s working as something else than a prop for your breeches, anyway,” Crowley murmured against his ear.

Aziraphale gasped and wanted to pull back, but with Crowley on top of him and the sofa behind, there wasn’t really anywhere to go. He hadn’t even noticed that Crowley had gotten him so, well, excited, but now that Crowley moved his leg against him in a way that felt rather purposeful, it was impossible to ignore.

“I may not have… indulged before, but I’m sure it won’t stop if you do that,” he said, finding his voice somewhat breathless and a little high-pitched.

“I wasn’t complaining,” Crowley pointed out.

His mouth had stilled against his skin and Aziraphale figured this was the moment where he could have protested if he wanted to and called their whole plan off – should have, really. For Crowley, it was probably nothing at all to sleep with him. He’d done it with humans, why should he not do it with an angel? A demon fed on such things and he didn’t need to be in love with Aziraphale to find his pleasure. Aziraphale, however, knew he would only further entangle himself in this net of affection that had grown more painful and constricting now that he didn’t have Crowley’s good will anymore.

Aziraphale frowned at Crowley for a moment before he dragged him down into a clumsy kiss with both hands in his short hair. On a list of terrible decisions he’d made, this was probably close to that whole incident with the French Revolution, but it was so _nice_ to taste Crowley and feel that tongue that was miraculously forked now against his own when he pushed into Crowley’s mouth.

Crowley propped himself up on his forearm as he began rutting against him, which quickly informed Aziraphale that his own effort was not the only one that wasn’t purely decoration. The press of his hard manhood against him brought up a sort of crackling excitement that Aziraphale had never felt before. He wanted more, closer, and lifted his hips to meet him, arms wrapping around Crowley so he could feel the full strength of his movement. If the speed of Crowley’s breath was anything to go by, he was enjoying himself, too, and the thought caused another wave of that particular pleasure to roll through Aziraphale.

When Crowley halted, Aziraphale was about to complain, but stopped himself as he realised that somehow, their trousers had been opened, from one blink of a second to the next, and now Crowley’s long fingers slotted their manhoods against each other. His toes curled in his freshly shined shoes as he let out a small whimper, hand cupping Crowley’s face as Crowley began stroking them. Immediately, Crowley turned his head and sucked Aziraphale’s thumb into his mouth. Aziraphale couldn’t even begin to contemplate why that sight left him gasping, but it did, especially as Crowley’s clever, too long tongue wrapped around his finger. He bucked into his grip, his free hand caressing Crowley’s back under his dark jacket, which bunched up over his arm, leaving Crowley looking a little dishevelled and somehow even more handsome than before. His cheeks had grown a very becoming pink, too, and his black glasses had slid down the bridge of his nose, revealing his flame-coloured eyes, which were so focused on him that Aziraphale thought he could feel them burn a hole straight through the fabric of his immortal soul.

The sensations crested with the intensity of a thunderbolt and Aziraphale spilled himself over Crowley’s hand, making a garbled noise in the back of his throat that tried to be the demon’s name. Crowley’s hand moved faster, without rhythm, and it only took a few moments until he seized up. His teeth closed around Aziraphale’s thumb, but Aziraphale only found the prick of pain more exciting.

Across the room, the door creaked slightly and was then quickly closed. Aziraphale felt as if he’d woken from a reverie. Suddenly, the cool, dust-filled air of the room seemed to rush in around him.

“Oh my. I – had quite forgotten…”

Aziraphale’s sentence petered out. He’d lost sight of the whole point of this. Someone had _watched_ them doing… well, it was probably best not to contemplate just how much they might have seen.

“I guess it’s not bad we made it convincing,” Crowley said, although the uncertainty in his voice told Aziraphale that escalating it this far hadn’t been his plan, either.

Crowley sat up and, with a wave of his hand, made sure they were clean and dressed once more. They disentangled themselves and sat next to each other on the couch in silence for a moment. Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“Anyway… should we head out?”

“Yes, definitely,” Aziraphale said quickly.

If they did not, he had a feeling he’d be tempted to kiss Crowley again.

They walked to the door, but Crowley stopped just before opening it and popped open one button on his own waistcoat before he ran his fingers roughly through Aziraphale’s hair. For some reason, his hand halted there for a moment. Aziraphale felt warm all over, but Crowley pulled back quickly.

“_Now_ we look like we just had an illicit moment in the broom closet,” Crowley muttered. “Let’s go and hope whoever caught us is a gossip.”

Back in the main club room, Aziraphale made sure to introduce Crowley as a _very special acquaintance_ to a couple of people, just to be sure that the message stuck. Perhaps Crowley thought him too naïve, but he didn’t go through life with his ears and eyes shut and he had caught on to some of the behaviours that were common among the men to express things they were not allowed to say out loud. Nevertheless, the lopsided smile Crowley gave him for the idea before taking his hat and saying his goodbyes made Aziraphale happy for a brief moment until he remembered that that was probably also theatre.

-

The next time Crowley came to the Portland club, Aziraphale and him were taken aside by Lord Marleigh and invited upstairs without any hassle. Crowley set to accomplishing whatever dastardly plan he had for Lord Rathbone whereas Aziraphale began working on his trusting friend. Mr Dalton was kind as ever, but that sadly made it difficult to impress on him the idea of a split from his partner.

Crowley was the one to come to his rescue with a shockingly candid letter Lord Rathbone had written to another lover of his, which he’d stolen out of his coat.

“Since you got me in here, I figured you should have this,” he said casually, shoving his hands into the pockets of his waistcoat. “Anyway, I’ve got to go. Lots of highborn men here, always a prime source of sin. I could cover my individual temptations for the rest of the century… just get it all done in one go and spread out the reports.”

“Considering you went to sleep for 25 years after the last time we met, I didn’t think you’d be interested in working in the club I go to,” Aziraphale said, unable to keep all disapproval out of his voice. He’d found it awfully childish of Crowley to just escape into unconsciousness, and he was even angrier at himself that somehow he hadn’t even managed to spin a conversation about the whole sad ordeal after he had engaged in fornication with Crowley. Having him around all the time sounded both painful and too enticing.

“Can’t we work in the same place now?” Crowley asked, irritated. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“If you insist, but there’s a lot of gentlemen’s clubs around.”

“Well, maybe I like this one!”

“Well – good for you!” Aziraphale answered, voice sharp for how lame the answer was even to his own ears.

Crowley only huffed and turned on his heel.

At least he had given him the letter, though. That was the thing with Crowley. Even when Aziraphale was absolutely exasperated with him, it was impossible to forget that in the end, Crowley was not a bad person. He wasn’t the kind of demon who would pile misfortune onto someone until they broke and then swept in to pick up the pieces, as he could have easily done with someone as yielding as Mr Dalton; he only gave them choices.

The letter convinced Mr Dalton to let Aziraphale direct him to Mr Fawcett, a good-natured, gentle fellow who would hopefully make a much better anchor point for the young man. Crowley did not disturb their flustered first conversation, either. As Aziraphale watched them flirt, he found himself wishing he could walk up to Crowley and somehow find a way to enchant him so utterly, but that, he was afraid, was not in an angel’s playbook. You weren’t supposed to know how to tempt someone at all. He had to believe it was for the best that way.

-

Of course, there was the problem that him and Crowley had presented themselves to the club as a couple now, so they couldn’t very well be scowling at each other across the room all the time. People would have started asking questions and working their various schemes to good and evil devices necessitated that they didn’t themselves become topics of conversation that distracted from their tasks. It was in their best interest to pretend to be civil.

The fact that they never met up outside of the club anymore, didn’t go to grab a bite to eat in a small restaurant or get drunk in the back of Aziraphale’s bookshop while talking about the world, didn’t feed the ducks, didn’t meet in clandestine places whose codenames Crowley had to remind him of… all of this had been true during Crowley’s quarter century nap as well, but at that time, Aziraphale had at least not been constantly reminded of how nice it was to be his friend, and how amazing it might be to me something more. Despite the fact that they sat together on a sofa now a couple of times a week, exchanging ostensibly secret touches and glances, he missed Crowley even worse than before.

To distract himself, Aziraphale would try to spend as much time with the other gentlemen as possible. They were very entertaining to be around, though, as it often happened, Crowley had revealed a side in some of them Aziraphale did not find very pleasing – and Crowley had not even tempted any of them very hard! It was quite shocking how mean humans could be of their own volition. Crowley’s job did itself at times, really.

Nevertheless, at least Aziraphale was still always invited to the gavotte and since Crowley claimed he couldn’t dance (which was not true, as Aziraphale had watched him tempting people during a village feast around the 15th century once and had long dreamed about his lithe, quick body moving to lute music afterwards), no one questioned their lack of camaraderie there. Aziraphale could also find a stimulating conversation whenever he wished. Some men were even rather more pleasant than before, possibly because they recognised him as truly in the know now. They would bring him new foods they had found or correct his posture during a dance, helpfully directing him with quick touches, and some even offered to bring him home in their carriages when it got late, though Aziraphale always declined, as he enjoyed an evening stroll in the summer.

Such distractions were very necessary, for avoiding Crowley as much as seemed appropriate could be rather as much of a painful business as sticking by his side and pretending to be his lover. Up on the second floor, men had quickly taken an interest in him, despite the fact that he had more or less introduced himself as Aziraphale’s lover. How could they not, really? He was handsome and quick-witted and Aziraphale had been talking to him for several millennia now and had never grown bored of him even once, so he couldn’t see how anyone here would manage that within a few weeks. Of course, some men were only friendly, since they recognised Aziraphale’s perceived claim on him, but he could see that it hardly kept everyone off. His vessel did not stand up to Crowley’s in terms of attractiveness, especially not after many years on earth with all its culinary delights, and he certainly did not have his wicked charm, so there were enough men who probably figured that Aziraphale had to be a choice Crowley had settled for until something better came along.

The Crowley they were so smitten with did not _truly_ exist, of course, but he was close enough to the real one that seeing him interact with these men so easily brought another thought into Aziraphale’s head: What if Crowley had only indulged him because they were literally the only ones of their kind on earth? Had there been perhaps two or three angels on earth or more – if Crowley could have had his pick –, would he still have bothered with Aziraphale? It was not like they had been friends before the Fall and although Aziraphale didn’t remember they’d ever _met_, then, he couldn’t stop his spiralling thoughts.

One long August evening, he found himself half-listening to a party of men discussing a recent minor upheaval in parliament while he watched Crowley out of the corner of his eye. Mr Landgley, who was the sort of man who seemed to work on embodying the word _dandy_ every second given to him on this earth, had taken the spot on the sofa next to Crowley and was talking animatedly about something Aziraphale resisted listening in to via a minor miracle even though he really wanted to. He’d been Crowley’s shadow for two nights now and, though knowing of their connection, usually treated Aziraphale like he was just an annoying child trailing behind his future conquest, all barely-hidden condescension.

Perhaps it was the accumulation of all the hours spent watching Crowley be courted by other men, or that Mr Landgley was really an extraordinarily vexing person, but like a branch bending and bowing under pressure, Aziraphale finally snapped when he saw that Mr Landgley placed his hand on Crowley’s knee.

He was on his feet before he knew what he was doing or had any sort of plan and marched over to the sofa.

“Excuse me, Mr Landgley,” he said, voice brimming with barely-hidden anger, “but I do think you are quite out of order.”

Crowley looked at him from behind his dark glasses. Most of the club was probably staring, too. Aziraphale found that he didn’t care right now.

“Am I?” Mr Landgley said with half-heartedly feigned innocence, pulling his hand back very slowly.

“Mr Crowley is my _friend_, as you well know, and I don’t think it’s appropriate at all to – to be so free with him here.”

“I figured you’d be distracted with the desserts table as usual,” Mr Landgley said with a cold smile at Aziraphale’s midsection. Crowley opened his mouth, but Mr Landgley went on: “It’d be a shame for someone as irresistible as Mr Crowley to sit alone in a corner waiting for you. What of it if he prefers my company to yours?”

“Well, I – I suppose I cannot do much if that is the case,” Aziraphale admitted, losing steam. If Crowley wanted to entertain himself with this man then that was his prerogative. They weren’t even actually together. It was well possible he’d ruined an attempt by Crowley to either amuse himself or accomplish a temptation.

Glancing down at his own hands, he suddenly felt very foolish. However, while he was still thinking of a way to step out of the situation without embarrassing Crowley or himself further, he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, angel.”

Crowley, who had stood up, pushed him towards a door to a hallway.

Aziraphale wondered distantly what the humans had to think of that word, but figured they would probably take it for an affectionate nickname. More important was the fact that Crowley was easily walking away from Landgley with Aziraphale. Whether it was to calm him or chide him, however, Aziraphale did not know.

They found another unused little sitting room, but this time, Crowley pulled the door tightly shut behind them.

“I apologise,” Aziraphale said, contrite. “I shouldn’t have interrupted. You don’t owe me anything.”

For a moment, Crowley only regarded him and Aziraphale wondered if it was possibly to discorporate from embarrassment.

“You know, it’s funny,” Crowley finally said, folding his arms over his chest, “I figured if one of us was going to blow up at someone here, it would be me.”

“You? Why?” Aziraphale asked, gaze snapping up as his confusion overcame his shame for a moment.

Crowley exhaled sharply.

“You really don’t realise how many of these blokes are trying to get with you, do you?”

This made Aziraphale chuckle.

“That’s preposterous. It’s you who has a trail of men behind you – which is understandable, but...” He stopped himself so he would not put on another regrettable show of jealousy.

“There’s definitely enough in your corner, too. Although I guess _I_ shouldn’t be complaining that you don’t seem to notice.”

There was something lurking in Crowley’s tone, unsure and apprehensive, more like a mouse checking if the cat had disappeared from its hole rather than a snake ready to strike. It occurred to Aziraphale, then, that Crowley did not want him with other men and what that could mean.

“Well,” he drew himself up a little, gathering all his courage, “even if I had noticed, I don’t think it should have changed anything. I was always – distracted. By you.”

“Oh yeah? Thought you were just _fraternising_,” Crowley said sullenly.

“It was a bad choice of words!” Aziraphale burst out. “I just meant – well, we are supposed to be soldiers for good and evil, are we not?”

“You gave your sword away as soon as you got it and I don’t think they ever even handed me one, so that wasn’t planned too well.”

Aziraphale was about to protest that it was really more about the spirit of the thing than actual weapons and armour, but then decided that he did not want to force another situation like the one at the duck pond, not when they seemed to be so close to the threshold of admitting something here.

“I don’t want to fight, Crowley,” he pleaded. “I didn’t want to fight before, either. But you should know you can’t ask of me to bring you holy water – I can’t lose you and I couldn’t bear to be responsible for your death.”

“Angel, do you really think that I’d go and do something stupid? I like this rock, I don’t plan to leave it before I have to,” Crowley said, a little more softly.

“But then what do you need it for?”

“Just to deal with my people. And yeah, maybe that’d include dropping myself in a bathtub with holy water rather than being dragged before Lucifer so he can find a nastier way to kill me, but trust me, if that happens, I’d be dead one way or the other. I wouldn’t be the one getting splashed with it, anyway, if my plans go right.”

Aziraphale frowned, glancing up at him.

“I suppose I couldn’t say no to giving someone the means to destroy demons,” he murmured, unhappily. “Although I want you to know I still don’t like this!”

“Noted.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

“I guess I’ll go out and make Landgley trip into the desserts table now,” Crowley said, after a moment. “Or out a window.”

Aziraphale tried to hide his smile because it was not very kind to be amused by such threats, but he couldn’t quite manage it and had a feeling Crowley had seen it, too.

“I think losing your company to me will probably be punishment enough.”

“Oh? You plan to whisk me away somewhere?” Crowley asked, cocking his head.

“To the bookshop, perhaps? I do have some Scottish whiskey there I’ve been meaning to try, but it’s boring on my own,” Aziraphale said and his vessel’s little human heart began beating as if he’d tried to run all the way back home already.

“You’re really rather good at this tempting thing, you know?”

Aziraphale gave Crowley a reproachful glance which dissipated into a smile as Crowley opened the door and linked arms with him.

-

They never did make it to the whiskey when they arrived at the bookshop. Crowley was on him the moment Aziraphale had shut the door and in truth, he’d hoped for that outcome.

“Why don’t you have a bed, angel?” Crowley asked, when they had managed to part for long enough to make it to the backroom and sit down on the sofa.

“I never needed one before!”

Crowley waved his hand. The cushions they sat on suddenly extended halfway across the room and the small coffee table that had once occupied the space the sofa now claimed stood squashed against a bookcase. Aziraphale wanted to complain about the careless rearranging of his space, but with Crowley’s tongue in his mouth it was both complicated logistically and not worth the effort. Instead, he put his arms around him and let Crowley pull him down into a heap of plush pillows.

“I wonder,” Crowley said quietly, as they parted for a moment, “what it’d be like, sleeping with an angel?”

“You’ve done it once before,” Aziraphale reminded him.

Crowley let his fingers run down Aziraphale’s chest.

“No, I mean if we didn’t keep it in our vessels, so to speak.”

“Is that possible?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I guess your sort weren’t really built for sex, were you?”

“Well, neither were you, originally.”

Crowley grimaced.

“There’s not much left of what I was _originally_.” He stopped himself. “Actually,” he stretched the word and then rushed on with the next bit, “probably a good idea to keep it on this level. Demons aren’t much to look at outside of the vessel.”

“Crowley, you talk to me as if I’m human,” Aziraphale admonished gently. “I’m not afraid of something that looks a little otherworldly.”

“Yeah, but I’m not all fluffy feathers and heavenly glow.”

Aziraphale took his hand. “I want to see,” he said, honestly, before pulling off Crowley’s glasses and looking into his bright eyes to make his point.

“I wouldn’t have needed to bother with the bed, then,” Crowley grumbled, but Aziraphale could hear in his tone that he’d be getting his way.

Their true beings existed in a space that was about half a step out of the dimension of present time. Neither angels nor demons dragged their true forms over often, as it was quite difficult to navigate the human world and sometimes even heaven and hell with, for example, as many as six wings each roughly the size of a small house that all carried an assortment of eyes radiating starlight, which Aziraphale now possessed. He bent out of the shining chaos of his own feathers and spread out his wings, which were enveloped in the same fire that had once lit his sword. It would not burn Crowley if he did not want it to.

Crowley was a snake, as he’d always been, though about thirty feet long now and outfitted with a pair of sleek black wings. His shimmering scales seemed to hug mostly dark, shifting smoke, ever changing, ever deceiving. His eyes burned out of the shadow like simmering coals. A tendril reached for Aziraphale, a clawed thing, fangs blinking in the same moment were a mouth or snout could have been in his face. Aziraphale grabbed on to it.

He could not quite tell what happened then; he wrapped himself around Crowley, or Crowley folded into him. They seemed to melt together somehow, less than two and more than one. Aziraphale saw the universe stretch out before him, swirling, threaded into Crowley’s form. He shivered as light flickered against the fabric of creation, Crowley’s eyes burning like lava, and could not say whether he saw the flames of hell or holy fire. Finally, a starburst took apart everything but Crowley, tethered and enveloped through his own and Aziraphale’s affection.

Crowley laid on top of him, naked in his arms, as reality flailed trying to translate what they had done when they came crashing back into their vessels. Aziraphale could still feel Crowley’s presence everywhere as he held him, down to his veins and marrow.

“That was new,” Crowley murmured into his shoulder.

“It was marvellous,” Aziraphale whispered.

“I think all your love almost discorporated me. I had trouble getting back into my body.”

Aziraphale smiled and decided not to mention that he had felt just as much love come from him. As a demon, Crowley did not appreciate that sort of thing.

“Yes, all my fault, I’m sure,” he said, placing a hand on Crowley’s naked back. Their clothes laid strewn about the room; one pair of trousers had caught on the upper edge of a bookcase somehow.

“Absolutely,” Crowley agreed before he kissed him.


End file.
